


who wants a run with the number one

by verity



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Wigs, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9559160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: A year ago, Victor would never have dared to do something like this. Yuuri would have flinched, pulled away, been convinced Victor was making fun of him. Now Yuuri just smiled and said, "Think about what? My husband coming to bed in a wig and flannel pajamas? No, I don't think I did."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reallyyeahokay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallyyeahokay/gifts), [Cesare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/gifts).



> Inspo, sort of: ["Get a cosplay wig."](http://codenamecesare.tumblr.com/post/156729592256/texts-from-hasetsu)

"Huh." Yuuri blinked for a moment, as if he were trying to clear his eyes. "Where did you find that?"

"Yura sent me a link," Victor said breezily. 

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. "Did he say, 'Look, this is fucking stupid?'"

"You think I look stupid?"

" _Victor_ ," Yuuri said. 

Yuuri had been reading something on his phone, but he leaned over to put it on the nightstand. The shirt he was wearing was one of Victor's, oversized and all stretched out at the neck, and it slid down Yuuri's shoulder as he moved. Yuuri reached up to tug the collar back into place, but Victor caught his hand before he could, tangling their fingers together. Then he lifted Yuuri's hand to press a kiss to Yuuri's fingers. Victor looked up from beneath his lashes to gauge the effect. "Yuuri," he said. 

"Really?"

Victor sighed. "Didn't you think about this late at night, when you were..."

Yuuri lifted his hand from Victor's grasp to brush his thumb against Victor's cheek, then the long hair pulled back from his crown. A year ago, Victor would never have dared to do something like this. Yuuri would have flinched, pulled away, been convinced Victor was making fun of him. Now Yuuri just smiled and said, "Think about what? My husband coming to bed in a wig and flannel pajamas? No, I don't think I did."

"These aren't flannel," Victor said. "They're sateen."

Yuuri picked up a lock of hair in his hand and ran his thumb over the silver threads. The shirt was drooping further down his arm, leaving his pale shoulder to rise out of soft jersey like marble statuary emerging from beneath a dust cloth. "They suit you," he said.

* * *

A week ago, Yuri had sent Victor a link, followed by, _look at this fucking idiot_. A series of photographs: some girl posing in a cheap knock-off of one of Victor's old costumes, a bouquet of flowers in her arms, silver hair streaming over her shoulders. It was charming. Victor had laughed and scrolled down into the comments where she was answering questions about her costume. About the hair. He clicked another link and waited for the site to load.

His hair—his own, real hair—had been less of an asset than a burden on the ice. Victor had held out for years against cutting it. However vain he was now, he'd been twice that as a teenager. His hair had been so thick, so full. Even if he grew it out again, it wouldn't be the same. The wig was less than fifty euros.

* * *

When Victor crawled on top of the bed, Yuuri took off his glasses and leaned back to make room, tilting back his head until the glare from the reading lamp got in his eyes. Victor shoved the thing away until it was nearly facing the wall. Then they were looking at each other in a room so dim that Victor could only see the gleam of Yuuri's eyes. Yuuri pulled him forward by the lapels. "I had a poster of you over my bed my first three years of college," Yuuri said, low, into Victor's ear. "You and those blue roses."

Victor let Yuuri pull him forward until he was sitting astride Yuuri's hips, hands pressed flat to the sheet on either side of Yuuri's shoulders. Yuuri's hands were in Victor's hair—the hair that was on Victor's head, anyway—and he tugged Victor's face down to his that way. Victor's hair swung forward as he bent down, curtaining them off from the world. He'd let down his hair for a dozen lovers the year he was eighteen, because the kind of men who liked Victor liked that sort of thing. 

"How does this even work," Yuuri mumbled against Victor's cheek. "You must have so many pins in there."

"I love you," said Victor.

Yuuri kissed Victor's cheek, then nipped the underside of Victor's jaw. "You, too," he said, very shyly and softly for someone whose name was right next to Victor's on the deed for their apartment.

Victor rolled onto his side so he could kick off his pajama bottoms. Yuuri tried to help him with the top, so it took twice as long to unbutton as it would have taken Victor himself. Victor ended up lying on his back, watching Yuuri undress. There was only the shirt, swirling up his hips and over his head, and then he was naked, looking down at Victor with his dark eyes. With Victor's ring on his finger. No more artful seduction could have been quite so beguiling. 

"You look like yourself wearing a wig," Yuuri said softly. "Just so you know."

"Indulge me," Victor said. 

Yuuri smiled, then, and knelt down to kiss Victor. His mouth was warm, his lips chapped, and he knew just what Victor liked, after all this time—to feel indulged even when the indulgence was nothing more than a squeeze of the hand or the last centimeter of jam in the pot. Victor dragged his nails down Yuuri's back and Yuuri's dick jerked against Victor's belly. Then Yuuri reached over to the nightstand again and came back with his hand shiny and slick. 

"Oh," Victor said when he saw Yuuri slide a finger into himself. 

Yuuri lifted his head. But not his hand. "Did you not want..."

"I do," Victor said. "Of course. Please. Don't stop."

There was no artifice in Yuuri: he was a poor actor in Victor's fantasy of youth. Yuuri didn't even try to pretend he was thrilling in having the most beautiful boy in the room. Instead, he sunk down on Victor and said, "I love you," with such aching tenderness that it brought tears to Victor's eyes.

* * *

When Victor had been a teenager, he hadn't had any posters in his room, overhead or otherwise. There was no person he thought of when he drifted to sleep at night, no dream husband or home. He certainly couldn't have imagined this.

Yuuri had the wig on his head now, the silver waterfall of hair looking a little worse for the wear. "I don't think I can pull it off." 

Victor laughed into the hair cascading down Yuuri's chest. "Me neither."

Yuuri kissed the top of his head.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
